


Rat Fumes, Probably

by JohnHasSherlockedHimselfInTheCloset



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Doctor John Watson, Friendship, Hurt, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Friendship, Mrs. Hudson loves her crosswords, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock Whump, Sick Character, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnHasSherlockedHimselfInTheCloset/pseuds/JohnHasSherlockedHimselfInTheCloset
Summary: Sherlock is sick but won't admit it. "It’s only transport and not an excuse for weakness of any kind." John Watson is a nice doctor as usual and Mrs. Hudson is most definitely better at crosswords than John is. No contest.Just a good old-fashioned sick fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, humans (and anyone else who may be reading this)  
> This is my first fic ever and I've definitely crossed over that fandom line now. Please leave kudos and comment, I'd love to hear what you guys think! I've only got this first chapter done, but I fully intend to keep writing more. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, I don't know what to say now. Enjoy? Ya, do that.

Sherlock had felt an ominous gurgling from deep in the pits of his stomach since he woke up, but he had successfully ignored it thus far. 

‘It’s only transport and not an excuse for weakness of any kind.’

Lucky for him, John had been helping Mrs. Hudson on the crossword all morning and, on his one appearance to grab his mug, had not seemed to notice any of Sherlock’s symptoms. So, Sherlock continued to putter around the flat, working on various experiments involving the decomposition of poisoned rats versus that of rats killed in traps. Every so often, he would stop, overcome with a spell of nausea and dizziness, and rest his head in his arms on the counter. 

During one of these spells, John entered the flat quietly enough that Sherlock didn’t take note of his presence. 

“Sherlock…?” John inquired, cautiously looking at his doubled-over friend. “You all right, mate?” 

John said this knowing full well what Sherlock would say, no matter how he felt. Still, John was concerned and wanted to convey this to Sherlock even if Sherlock was going to rudely dismiss the question and lecture him about sentimentality. 

“Yes, rat fumes, probably.” Sherlock said, gesturing vaguely towards the experiment without lifting up his head. 

John wasn’t sure whether to believe Sherlock or not, after all, the rats DID really stink and being near them was probably not beneficial to anyone’s health. But John knew Sherlock and excuses for ‘defective transport’ weren’t too uncommon.

John’s train of thought was stopped by Sherlock abruptly straightening himself out and, without facing John, stating, “I expect you should be getting downstairs to help Mrs. Hudson sweep up the remnants of the sugar bowl she dropped.”

“She didn’t drop the sugar bo-” 

Just then, John was interrupted by the crashing sound of broken pottery and the muffled “Oh, dear!” emanating from Mrs. Hudson’s flat downstairs. 

“You bloody git…” John mumbled under his breath. 

“Have fun, John.” Sherlock said, a slight smirk cutting across his face. 

John ran hurriedly down the steps, calling to Mrs. Hudson not to touch the broken pieces and his eyes already searching for the dustpan. 

Sherlock, meanwhile, had finished his notes and observations on the rats and retired to his chair and an intriguing article about statistical anomalies in the survival time of hanging victims. One of the people mentioned in it was said to have moaned and made noises a full 28 hours after having been hanged, but Sherlock speculated that he had died earlier and people were simply hearing the release of gases from his bloated intestines. 

‘Speaking of the release of things from one’s digestive system’, Sherlock thought as a wave of intense nausea hit him like the trap had clamped down on the rat that was now neatly laid out on the counter. 

Though he hardly realized he was doing so, Sherlock let out a long low groan. He allowed his eyes to slip close in an attempt to lessen the sudden thudding embedded in his head. Just as his headache was beginning to subside, it was revived by the easily recognizable gait of his flatmate. 

Sherlock’s eyes flicked open just in time to see a slightly alarmed John Watson peek into the doorway. 

“Sherlock, mate, you okay?” 

“I’m fine, John, do stop worrying yourself.” 

It was, evidently, a bit too late for that. John was struck by Sherlock’s haunting pallor. 

“You don’t look so fine…” John noted, hesitant to irk the detective, but ultimately deciding it was a risk that must be taken. 

Sherlock stood up from his chair to demonstrate to the doctor just how ‘fine’ he was. His stomach abruptly constricted, threatening the reappearance of his meagre breakfast for an encore. Sherlock tried to minimize the look of pain and discomfort on his face as his insides disobeyed his every instruction. 

He quietly but forcefully uttered, “I’m FINE” before striding through the kitchen and into the bathroom. 

Or, at least, that’s where he would have ended up had his foot not caught on the carpet. He fell quite quickly into an unceremonious heap, a percussive crack sounding from where his elbow met the white, tile floor. 

In a last act of betrayal, Sherlock’s slumped body heaved massively producing a small pool of vomit next to his pained, panting form. 

“Christ, Sherlock.” John said, his words clasped in a sigh of commiseration.


	2. You can't ignore this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is in Doctor Watson Mode™ and, as it turns out, a pained Sherlock is an agreeable Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter! Sorry I couldn't get this one out sooner. 
> 
> And ya, I may or may not have slipped a little Doctor Who reference in here, but I couldn't help myself! Also, I feel like it isn't out of character for John to watch Doctor Who and then reference it to confuse Sherlock...
> 
> Thank you again for reading, kudos-ing, and leaving comments! (Especially the comments, I love those!)

As much as John hated to see Sherlock all crumpled up on the floor, he couldn’t help but give him a reprimanding jibe. 

“THIS…” John started, gesturing vaguely to the Sherlock lump in front of him. “THIS is not what fine looks like.” 

Another low-pitched groan radiated from Sherlock’s throat as John crouched down to get a better look at Sherlock’s condition. 

“Geez, Sherlock, you’ve really done yourself in this time.” John sighed sadly. Sherlock started to hoist himself up from his sprawling position, but the moment he went to place his right hand on the floor, he screwed his eyes shut and sharply inhaled through his teeth. In a flash, John was by his side, this time in Doctor Watson mode. 

“Sherlock? Can you tell me where it hurts?” John said, keenly eyeing his friend’s elbow. 

“No, John…” He took in a quick shuddering breath. “I-I’m fine, r-really ver-ry absolut-lutely fine.” 

Every syllable seemed to take a tremendous amount of energy to expel. John shot Sherlock a scolding look. 

“Where. Now.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes before once again closing them in pain. “...mostly everywhere.” Sherlock defeatedly mumbled. 

This time it was John who rolled his eyes. 

“Notably, my stomach, head, and mid-arm.” 

“Can you bend your elbow?” John asked, now on his knees to help Sherlock up from the cool tile floor. 

Sherlock tried to do as the doctor asked, but all he did was send a wave of agonizing pain through his arm, causing him to involuntarily hiss.

“That would be a no” John said, eyes widening from the surprising display of emotion on his friend’s face.

“Sherlock, I’m going to roll up your sleeve and get a better look at your arm, okay?”

Sherlock’s quick nod was all the confirmation John needed. He began to gently roll up the purple, cotton fabric over top of Sherlock’s already swollen and bruising arm.

John carefully ran his fingers over top of the swelling of Sherlock’s elbow, causing his friend’s already laboured breathing through his clenched jaws to catch in his throat.

“Sorry, mate. I just need to check out your arm, I’ll be gentle, yeah?”

John’s sturdy fingers continued to work their way down his arm, tenderly prodding and studying the detective’s face for any reaction. Then, the hands of the kind doctor reached something very out of place.

“Oh, Sherl-”

His words were stuck in his throat as what John would say almost looked like fear crept over Sherlock’s face.

“How bad?” Sherlock managed to eke out.

“Emm… Well… your olecranon is quite broken.”

“But, that’s fine. Just a sling for a week or so, right? It’s really fine. It- it barely even hurts!” Sherlock tried to be convincing, but his face betrayed that he knew every word was untrue.

“Sherlock.” John said, moments away from seething impatience. “I’m not going to stand by and let you ruin your health. As is, you eat less than half what you should and you run around getting yourself beaten up and shot at. But this… This you can’t ignore. Even you being the idiot you are can’t ignore this and you certainly can’t function like this either.” 

John felt bad for reprimanding Sherlock like this, especially when he was in such great pain, but he knew that if he didn’t Sherlock would be in much worse condition.

There was an uncomfortable silence while Sherlock reflected on what had been said. He knew he was right.

“So… I suppose you’re going to want to take me to the A&E, then?”

“Good idea, you’re sick AND you have a broken elbow, I can’t think of a better place to go.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but roll his eyes even though it revived his headache and nausea.

"Allons-y then, Sherlock. I'll get a cab"


End file.
